Notre Dame de Paris
by Preussan
Summary: Oil company heiress Natalia Arlovskaya hates having to put on a facade to impress those who might want to invest in her company; especially the ones who are too high-class for her tastes. Roderich Edelstein, though, seems to be willing to accept this deadly little challenge.


I did not dance. I did not sing. I did not play. I was a weapon within a lithe, gentle body that was more lethal than any man. I was cold, calculating, cruel and crude; though when I was asked to be a lady, I was the perfect heiress to this company. Men fell at my feet and showered me with gifts of adoration, but I had to turn them away. I could not bring myself to fathom the idea of me being happy with a man or a woman, or even an item that was not one of the many blades that I had given my life and heart to. These things passed my mind for fleeting moments before being replaced with new thoughts that would soon move into a grey area of nothingness in my brain. I had been staring at these two tickets that meant almost nothing to me, as they were for the ballet in St. Petersburg that I never cared to attend after its restoration many years ago. The Mariinsky Theater was well known for their wonderful ballet performances, and my brother dearly adored the dance company. I had taken interest in them, but never did I intend to stay. I left after only two years of dancing, which in turn caused them to despise me. But it seemed that he was not inviting me to go, but he had put me in touch with someone interested in investing into the company. I rolled my eyes as I read his carefully scripted letter, as it was too obvious even to my eyes that he wrote as if he were walking on eggshells with me.  
_Natalia,_

_It would please your big brother very much if you would accompany the young heir to the Edelstein Company to watch the Mariinsky Theater's Apollo. He has mentioned interest in our company's oil sales and might invest- but it is up to you to make a good impression on him! I am sure you can, my sestra, as you are the most beautiful and regal young lady any man will ever have the fortune to meet. _

_Love,_

_Vanya_

As much as it pleased me to have my brother compliment my façade, I was displeased with him demanding I pretend to be royalty for someone once again.

**T**he opera house was beautiful, I had to admit, but I had seen more wonderful places. My brother would have cursed me for voicing such an opinion, and I thanked that he was not there with me. I had curled my platinum locks and pinned them to my head, though many waves still fell past my shoulders, which were bare aside from the pale white shawl I dared grace them with. I chose to wear a sparkling blue gown that had a very long dip in the back and came high up on my chest and stuck closely to my figure. I did not plan on leaving my blades home, so they were snuggly stuck against my upper thigh, pinned to my stockings. My driver did not open my open my door, and I became more irritated as I sat there. Then, I remembered that he was most likely trying to find my "date" for the evening. I gave a sigh as my door finally opened, and my driver held his hand out for me to take. I placed my ivory gloved fingers in his palm gingerly, and he helped me out of the vehicle without a word or complaint or compliment. I ignored him completely, before looking forward the man half-bowing in front of me. He stood at full height and rested his top hat on his head before taking one of my hands and kissing the knuckles. The touching and formality was completely awkward. I noted that without his glasses he probably wasn't much to look at. He did look very regal, though, with his black dress pants and swallowtail jacket. His hair was parted very far and there was a peculiar piece of hair that stood from the rest. His complexion was pale, but not as light as me, and he had a small mole by his lip.  
"Evening, Miss Arlovskaya, a pleasure to meet you. I do hope we both enjoy our time here, and may possibly become future business partners." He spoke in a way that mirrored my own speech; almost harsh and blunt, yet it was still very gentlemanly. "Yes, a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Edelstein." Was my only reply, which could have been too short, too harsh or maybe rude, but I found that I, at this moment in time, did not care at all. He was simply humoring me when he would try to bring my brother into conversation, as I could see he had been warned of my tendencies to pursue the man in betrothal.  
"Your brother is such a lovely man."  
"Your brother said you're not very fond of the ballet."  
I very dearly missed my brother's presence, for he could shut this man up. He obviously knew how to get under my skin and must have been doing it on purpose, but this could have become an important "alliance" between our two companies, so I remained simple and blunt with my answers. We had finally managed to get inside, and we had some of the finest seats in the building. Though I am more a weapon than a doll, I knew it would be best if I sat with my legs tucked close together and my hands curled in my lap, and I watched, somehow becoming indulged in the entire event.

* * *

**I** found it confusing at how this heiress could be so cool. She was like a wintery breath when she spoke; blunt, almost rude and calculating, though she was very well aware of everything going on around her. Though she seemed rather brash, she was elegant, and I could tell she preferred the more grand settings, perhaps like a ball. I couldn't help but think it would be a better choice on my part to have held a ball instead of asking her to a ballet. As she sat, so very poised and motionless, like a statue in her seat, I noted that it seemed nearly impossible for the girl to be carrying any of the weapons her brother had told me she was fond of. Unless, this was not at all a perverse observation on my part, she had them strapped against her very long legs. Intermission came too soon, as now she had moved and adjusted herself so that I could hardly continue to sneak gentle views of her. She was almost a puzzle that I needed to solve, for this woman was too closed off from everything else that I knew there was much more to her than what she was showing me.  
"How have you liked it so far?" I asked, attempting mild conversation. She took a moment to respond, but when she did, I felt a slight sweat break on my palm.  
"I have seen better renditions."  
It was like walking on a tightrope. I could see that my comments including her family were on the verge of possibly having me slapped, or worse- cut open, while some times she would calm when I spoke of music. Was she a musician? She shot down the answer when she said she had no talents. When I tried to protest, that surely there must be something, she interrupted me with a cutting "nyet." I decided that conversation were better left for her and her brother. She seemed comfortable with having not stretched her legs for such a long time, and refused to look at me as I made my way around to stretch my own. I probably should have read up on their etiquette, but it hadn't crossed my mind at all. When intermission was over, she turned on her heel and strode inside, leaving me to myself and the crowd of anxious Belarusians.

**T**his country was too cold for me. I thought I would be accustomed to such cold weather, but I could not fathom living here. I bet, though, in the spring it was lively and beautiful like the young woman. I noticed it seemed that all people in her country were against touching strangers if it was meeting one another, and that not many people made eye contact. I had tried to stop, but I often forgot and looked right at her. It was a shame… I was sure she would be much lovelier if she smiled, or at least did not always have that unique sour look on her face. We sat at the doors, waiting for her carriage to retrieve us- I had used a rental, and I was to stay with her and her family for three more nights. When it finally arrived, I got a good view of it; it was white with beautiful silver and blue engravings on it, small flowers and even something that looked as if the vines had been dancing all around. Something told me she preferred those colors, as they were also in her company's logo. I hurried, and put my hand out for her to take and use for entering the carriage, but she looked at it with skepticism before gingerly taking it. I climbed in after her. The ride was actually very long. Her home was on the other side of the city and out into the woods, which worried me a little, as it seemed frightening to imagine a woman like her living in such a horror-themed place. The mansion was extravagant, and she simply looked like a princess when she approached. The doors were opened for her without even having to knock, and they took her shawl and my overcoat. They lived in a very grand place. She did not turn to look at me when she spoke. "Come. I shall take you to your room. We will dress ourselves and then we shall come down for nighttime tea and then it will be time for slumber. Your things are already in your room." It shocked me that she seemed to follow such an on point schedule! I did as I was told; my room was across from her brother's and next to her own, and I could hear how she very loudly would open and slam the doors to her closet shut. I had simply pulled on a pair of slacks and a button up and tucked it in; it was almost time to sleep and I didn't plan on staying in these for too long. When I exited, she was already standing by my door and waiting on me. Her hair was straight. On top was a white bow and she wore a blue dress. The sleeves were long and the cuff was white, she had a black and white striped bow in the back that tied her white apron on. The neck was white and frilled and buttoned high with a black ribbon around it. She had on black stockings, which most likely hid those knives. I offered a smile to her, but in return she turned and led me back down into the parlor room. There was already coffee waiting.

**I** awoke to singing. It was eight in the morning, and I was still drowsy, but I knew I had heard singing. If it had been poorly conducted, I would have grumbled and made a complaint, but this was beautiful. I climbed from my bed and dressed myself quickly, combing my hair and brushing my teeth. I hurried to the sound of this voice, expecting to see the older sister Ivan had mentioned. Though when I entered the kitchen and the smell of eggs and toast and bacon and vodka entered my nose, and the sizzling of grease on a pan slapped my ears I saw Natalia. She was singing something in her language, her accent thick enough I would have forgotten she spoke nearly perfect English. I did not make a sound, nor move to interrupt her. I watched her and listened. She seemed to be used to cooking for herself. She did everything with one hand, her voice her only concentration of energy and thought, and I wondered if she even had to think to be so beautiful.  
"I thought you had said before that you did not possess any talents?" I eventually commented, which made her spill the slightest drop of coffee from the mug. She stopped her singing instantly and remained silent, carrying the food and drinks to the table and sitting a bottle of vodka at the head of it. She used her hand to show me where to sit; I must have been sitting across from her or something. She then pulled on a rope; I heard a million rings and then silence. After only minutes, Ivan, and who I assumed to be Katyusha, entered the room fully dressed, yet still sleepy. There were yawns and "Spasibo, Natasha!"s being said, and we all sat down and began to eat. The food was delicious, not grand, but humble and something I would expect a normal person to eat. So there _was_ something normal about this girl! I chuckled to myself, which in turn earned a slight questionable glare from her.  
Breakfast went by quickly, with little talking on my kind hostess's part, but her brother and sister were quite friendly. Afterwards, though, it was time for them to prepare for a party.  
"A party?"  
"Vanya would like to throw a party for your staying with us. He asked me to keep you out while he and sestra prepare. Is this a problem, Mr. Edelstein?"  
I shook my head, feeling as if there was a different tone in her voice than there had been yesterday when she spoke to me. Her city of Minsk was beautiful, though, so I could not complain. She slapped my hand when I tried to point at something, and then explained that using one finger was rude.  
"Might I ask where we are going, Miss Arlovskaya?" I had noticed we were obviously going somewhere in particular with how much she had to focus when looking at signs and making turns. She nodded her head once and then remained silent, and I almost asked her again. "You like ballet, da?" She asked, looking at me from over her shoulder. I noticed she had become less hostile when speaking with me, and I was less on my toes when talking with her. I nodded my head. "Vanya said I should bring you to our old dance studio and dance for you." I was simply shocked. She had not mentioned to me that she danced, which even made me impressed. We entered the studio, which looked well-kept and stunningly modern. We entered the rooms, and she waved at one of the teachers, which surprised me even more. I thought the "old studio" was out of business! She left the room, but soon returned as she was tying her hair into a ponytail with her ribbon. She was in pure white. The skirt flit about her thighs and the top was plain, though she seemed spirited this way.  
"Have you read _Notre Dame de Paris_? They have done a ballet over it with La Esmeralda having her own solo. I shall dance this for you."  
I had always been fond of the book, and soon the music began and I suddenly felt as if my heart was leaping with every toe point, of pirouette, every leap and jump and twist and turn she made. And finally, at some point, she herself seemed absorbed in it. Her eyes were closed. She did not need to look; the emotion she felt was pure, it was everywhere at once, and it was suffocating. She could recite the words of the book so well and soulfully and so quietly I was strained to hear, but I was dying of emotion overload from her.  
"Do you know what friendship is?' he asked.  
'Yes,' replied the gypsy; 'it is to be brother and sister; two souls which touch without mingling, two fingers on one hand.'  
'And love?' pursued Gringoire.  
'Oh! love!' said she, and her voice trembled, and her eye beamed. 'That is to be two and to be but one. A man and a woman mingled into one angel. It is heaven."  
And this simple murmur was enough to set my chest aflame. What could bind a man like me to the being of a madwoman, a woman who cannot be more dangerous than tying yourself to a chair and burning down your home? More deadly than the devil and all his minions? She was a devil, a demon, a murderer and a terrifying enchantress of the snow. I stood from my seat on the floor and grabbed her. She snapped her eyes open, disoriented from her trance and I placed such a frightfully idiotic kiss upon her lips that I was screaming at myself to run, to escape her in my head. But she did not hurt me, and she did not speak, but she stood still, motionless. I felt my fear building until I was almost shaking, but she, hardly at all, returned the kiss. Her eyes had shut and her lips were too parted for it to be a mistake on my part for her enjoying this action. I ended it, though, and when I did, she looked at me. I could not read her face, but her voice came out as sharp as ever.  
" 'At the moment when her eyes closed, when all feeling vanished in her, she thought that she felt a touch of fire imprinted on her lips, a kiss more burning than the red-hot iron of the executioner.' "

* * *

_Okay okay. I hope this doesn't suck, because I tried. It DOES switch view points from her to Austria. ;u; I tried!_


End file.
